


hard day's night

by preromantics



Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: Breakfast, Gen, M/M, Phone Calls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-17
Updated: 2010-05-17
Packaged: 2017-10-09 12:58:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/87737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/preromantics/pseuds/preromantics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everywhere but Evan's home feels like home, especially when he's in it, and sometimes (okay, a lot,) he consults people like Johnny Weir in his head. <i>Usually the third person Evan would consult in his head when he thought about the locker rooms being 'home' -- or thought about a lot of things that needed consulting in his head, and possibly Evan would need therapy when he retired -- was Johnny Weir. It was only a little odd, but sometimes he snapped out of whatever lull his body or mind was in if he thought of Johnny saying something sort of snippy to him. In this case, he always pictured Johnny saying something like: "Wow, Lysacek, do you plan on winning a gold medal or a straight jacket this year?".</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	hard day's night

**Author's Note:**

> For jocondite's prompt to the drabble meme, for which the song that came up was 'A Hard Day's Night.' ♥

Sometimes, (okay, a lot of the time,) rink-side locker rooms felt more like home to Evan than anywhere else, which probably wasn't healthy. Hotels, planes, those were like home, too. Not in the metaphorical way the ice was, but in a more figurative way. Usually when he sat down and found time to admit that to himself, he'd hear lots of brain-commentary on the subject from the various people in his head, which probably wasn't healthy, either.

("That's good. That's how it _should_ feel," Frank would probably say. He'd probably pat Evan on the shoulder for having such a great thought and then maybe ask if it would be beneficial to maybe try a week where Evan lived _at_ their rink so he could like, embody the ice 24/7 or something. Which Evan would probably agree to.

His mom would probably say something like, "Oh, Evan," and try and mail him soup, which wouldn't work. At least, Evan always pictured it not working, since the mail system didn't general ship things like that, but sometimes he just really craved some homemade soup and wished that they _did_.

Usually the third person Evan would consult in his head when he thought about the locker rooms being 'home' -- or thought about a lot of things that needed consulting in his head, and possibly Evan would need therapy when he retired -- was Johnny Weir. It was only a little odd, but sometimes he snapped out of whatever lull his body or mind was in if he thought of Johnny saying something sort of snippy to him. In this case, he always pictured Johnny saying something like: "Wow, Lysachek, do you plan on winning a gold medal or a straight jacket this year?".)

The thing was, the locker rooms were sort of like home, as much as his head generally disagreed. He saw the inside of the locker rooms at the Toyota Sports Center more times in the year leading up to the Olympics than he saw a single person in his life. He spent more time leaning against the cold painted wall, chest heaving from exhaustion and costume sticking to him like a second skin than he did a lot of other things.

After the games were over, Dancing With the Stars had practice rooms and changing rooms and trailers, which were like locker rooms and therefore a little bit like home, sort of the in-between of a hotel and a plane and the numerous other things that Evan sometimes saw more than his apartment.

But after DWTS was over -- well, Evan had his apartment. He had his various brain-voices which he consulted -- Frank, his mom, Johnny -- and that was pretty much it. There were little press things and speaking events, where getting on a plane would feel like the best form of escape, second only to power yoga out on his balcony and skating for a few hours down at the rink.

Except then he got lazy, a little, and he started wondering what various people would say to him. Then, he got a little bit drunk (because he could do that now,) and decided instead of consulting people in his _head_, he'd consult them over the phone, which sounded like a good idea.

Frank was first on his speed dial, but they were on break and Evan definitely thought he wouldn't approve. His mother was next, but she probably wouldn't be helpful, either.

Evan had to get up and physically search around his house for Johnny's cellphone number, which he knew was scribbled somewhere on a post-it note from where Evan had asked for it at an Olympic afterparty in a show of public comradeship, and Johnny had laughed at him a little and dug from his purse -- murse? Evan was never sure -- one handed to grab the stack of post-its and a pen as he sipped from a vodka martini with the other.

(Evan had felt both embarrassed and a triumphant afterward, and the post-it note was on his fridge for a little while, which he reasoned would be good for if someone ran a story about him and was at his house and saw the note, but then just felt vaguely creepy, the spiked letters staring at him every time he went for some mango juice.)

Johnny's number ended up being in his bathroom junk drawer, where all the (probably expired) hotel soaps and shampoo/conditioner mixes from around the world were shoved. It took four tries to type in the number, which should've been a sign that Evan shouldn't be calling anyone, let alone Weir, but he got it on the fourth time and it still felt like a good idea.

-

Evan wakes up in the morning on his couch, neck bent awkwardly like he'd been sleeping on a plane for a few hours, with his phone pressed against his ear.

He wakes up to someone knocking at his door, loud and obnoxious, and Evan swings his feet over the wrong side of the couch, disoriented, before figuring out how to get right-side-up to open the door.

When he swings it open, blinking in the sudden flood of too-bright sunlight, Johnny is on the other side.

"Johnny?" Evan asks, intelligently, squinting down at the monstrosity of a hat sitting on top of Johnny's head, which is way too -- bright or big or _something_ \-- for this early in the morning.

"I was in LA," Johnny says, by way of greeting, ducking under Evan's arm to get inside the apartment, "and I wanted to make sure you weren't dead."

Evan looks down at himself -- one side of his face feels numb, which is probably from sleeping on his phone, however that happened -- and frowns. "I'm not dead," he says.

"I can see that," Johnny says. He's in Evan's kitchen now, and Evan is really confused and his head really hurts. "That was one hell of a phone call last night," Johnny continues, sitting on top of Evan's counter when Evan makes his way to the kitchen.

Evan squints at Johnny on his counter, feet dangling just a little, and almost wants to slap himself in the face like they do on sitcoms. He called Johnny last night and, oh god, what did he say?

"Right," Evan says, standing awkwardly.

Johnny sighs and hops of the counter. He starts to open cupboards and drawers loudly and Evan watches, vaguely horrified (and a little amused when Johnny can't reach the cabinets over his fridge).

When Johnny stops moving, there is a glass of water on the counter with two asprins, and Johnny is looking at him sort of expectantly. Evan hesitates and then stands next to Johnny to take them, swallowing down the water with a sudden realization of thirst.

"I couldn't tell if you'd passed out last night or if your phone finally gave up three hours into your drunken rambling last night -- I'd given up two hours in and started giving myself a pedicure, you know? -- but I thought I'd check," Johnny says. He's talking fast and Evan has to blink a little to understand.

"You're a pretty good guy," Johnny says, after a pause where Evan can't figure out what to say. He looks unsure as he says it, and his arm is half-reached out like he's going to pat Evan on the shoulder or something.

"Thanks," Evan says, hesitant. He has no idea what he told Johnny last night.

Johnny laughs at him a little, softly, which Evan thinks is pretty considerate. "You also owe me breakfast," Johnny says, "because I distinctly remember that being mentioned."

"Breakfast," Evan repeats, searching his brain. He sort of remembers talking about how much he wanted waffles smothered in chocolate and whipped cream one time and then pictured Johnny laughing at him as he fell on his fat ass on the ice, and oh god, he really hopes he didn't tell Johnny that.

"I won't even laugh about your fat ass if you order waffles," Johnny says, grinning.

"I told you that?" Evan asks, frowning into his empty glass of water. Johnny takes it from his hands and goes to the sink to fill it up.

"You wouldn't _believe_ what you told me," Johnny says, handing him the glass again, newly filled. He's still grinning.

Evan doesn't want to know, really, but seeing Johnny in his kitchen grinning like he doesn't mind being there, like he sincerely wouldn't kill himself if he was forced to eat breakfast somewhere with Evan makes Evan's apartment feel a little bit more like home than it has since he's been back. "Breakfast," Evan repeats again, nodding, "that would be -- okay."

"Always one for words," Johnny says, and they smile at each other a little awkwardly. Now that Evan isn't squinting, he can see that there are little rings under Johnny's eyes -- he stayed up late to let Evan talk at him, instead of hanging up.

"Always," Evan agrees, skin a little strange on his bones. As he goes to change out of yesterdays clothes, feeling only a little awkward knowing Johnny is sitting on his kitchen counter, probably eating bits of the fruit bouquet basket People magazine had sent him.

He consults his head-voices, wondering what Frank would say, ("Go for it! But don't let him mess up your game." Which would basically be a moot point now, anyway,) and what his mom would say, ("Be careful, but if it makes you happy, then --",) and what Johnny would say, to which he comes up with nothing.

"God you take longer than I thought you would," Johnny yells. It definitely sounds like he's yelling around some fruit, and Evan was totally saving the strawberries on that bouquet.

Evan finishes getting ready and they go to breakfast, and he comes home with plans for tomorrow and feels like he has more purpose than he's had in weeks.


End file.
